


maybe all that negative thinking is what’s making you so hot

by ichikun



Series: i would like to be the knot in your throat [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Bottom Shikamaru Just Really Means a Lot to Me, Brief Examination of Cultural Exchange in Naruto Because Anthropology and Linguistics are Cool, Clothed Sex, F/M, Femdom, It's the thought that counts, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, does THAT mean anything to you guys?, implied cunnilingus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19273882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichikun/pseuds/ichikun
Summary: There was nothing Shikamaru could do now but sweat and pray.





	maybe all that negative thinking is what’s making you so hot

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @xigfucker for proofreading this, you're the real mvp  
> follow me @eromilktea on twitter to yell about naruto

As Shikamaru dragged himself across the desert, he couldn’t help but think this was so _cumbersome_. There were easier ways to get to Suna than by foot—camels could make the trip in half the time, and a teleportation scroll would eliminate the need for desert travel completely. But there weren’t enough camel caravans to accommodate even the record-low 6 teams of Konohagakure hopefuls for this year’s Chuunin Exams, and certainly not enough teleportation scrolls for that matter either. Instead, he, Kankurō, Kiba, Shino, Hinata, and a few other Konoha jōnin accompanied the teams and their teachers across the dunes of the Wind nation’s vast desert on foot.

 

There was, however, enough transportation scrolls for the Lord Hokage and his entourage of ANBU bodyguards to make the trip to Sunagakure ahead of the makeshift Konoha caravan.

 

When Shikamaru pressed the Hokage on this—a bold move, to be sure, but Shikamaru’s stubborn insistence on always doing the least amount of work possible at any given moment (especially when that work involved _crossing a desert on foot_ ) far outweighed his fear of Lord Kakashi’s withering glare—he made sure to explain in no uncertain terms that it was precisely because he was the Sixth’s newly-appointed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed advisor that he had to act as Kakashi’s eyes and ears along the road to Suna. Shikamaru resented that, mostly because he never wanted to be called bright-eyed and bushy-tailed again. He was born thoroughly exhausted and he would die that way at age 52 after years of internalized and unchecked anxiety finally caught up to him in the form of a heart attack, cigarette in hand and 2.5 children arguing over some obscure shogi rule somewhere nearby, thank you very much.

 

He expressed these sentiments to Kankurō as they trudged along, not exactly hoping for sympathy but also not not. Kankurō laughed heartily before asking him whether he had a back-up plan in case the heart attack never came. Don’t be ridiculous, Shikamaru scoffed back. If the heart attack doesn’t come, then the smoker’s lung will—there’s no way he would be seeing 53 if he could help it.

 

“I don’t know, dude,” Kankurō said after another brief laughing fit. “Maybe all that negative thinking is what’s making you so hot.”

“No, Kankurō, I think it’s the heat.” The last thing Shikamaru wanted to hear was some human black-out curtain telling him that his _actually extremely very realistic_ scenario was what’s making him overheat. Shikamaru didn’t say that aloud because he genuinely thought it was kind of brave for Kankurō to so thoroughly embrace black-out aesthetic despite living in the desert. He also reckoned it was the thick black clothing Kankurō wore attracting sunlight to himself and, by extension, Shikamaru, so he should maybe reconsider his fashion choices. He didn’t say that either because Kankurō was a friend.

 

“Well, either way, don’t say that to Temari, she’ll throw a fit.”

 

~

 

The Ame nin sprang foreword and unleashed a rib-crunching punch square into the torso of the Suna genin she was facing off against. The amount of chakra control necessary to send her opponent flying as far as he did would’ve vaguely impressed Shikamaru if he weren’t too busy anxiously ruminating on the fact that he would tell or not tell Temari whatever he damn-well pleased. It was nobody else’s business—certainly not Kankurō’s, though he admittedly held a fairer claim than most others as Temari’s own brother. But If Shikamaru wanted to tell Temari the exact date and time of his own death then he had every right to and there wasn’t a damn thing Kankurō or Gaara or anyone else could do about it.

 

Shikamaru felt the heat of another person behind him before he even fully pulled himself out of his internal tirade. The shadow imitation jutsu he unleashed caught his assailant just before their hand could reach the crown of his head.

 

“Woah, Nara, I can _feel_ the heat radiating off your hair,” the breezy voice behind him chimed. “You should get yourself a sun hat or something.”

 

Before he could think, Shikamaru turned and was met with—the back of Temari’s head. She was frozen in place, turned at an uncomfortable angle as she conformed to the pull of Shikamaru’s shadow.

 

“Let me go so I can turn around and say hello, dumbass.”

 

He acquiesced.

 

Beryl eyes squinted up at him in the Suna sun, sat atop round and tan cheeks. Peeling skin around the freckled edges of her face suggested Temari had been burning under the sun more than usual lately, probably in preparation for the exams. Her muscular arms bulged against the short sleeves of her cotton kimono as she placed two well-worn hands on two well-shaped hips.

 

“Long time no see,” Temari said. “See puberty’s finally hitting you with a regrettable few inches. I think you’re taller than me now.”

 

“I’ve been taller than you since the last Chuunin Exams,” Shikamaru told her pointedly.

 

“That ridiculous pony-tail doesn’t count, Pineapple Head,” she responded before finally greeting him with a warm smile. “It’s been a while since you’ve made your way to Suna.”

 

“Yeah, well, travel’s a bitch. Consider terraforming that small desert between us and maybe I’ll pop over more.”

 

Temari checked his shoulder with her own as she moved to stand next to him. The match was carrying on in the stadium below, with the Suna genin leaning heavily on his own overlarge fan. The Ame shinobi seemed to have this match in the bag.

 

“Sure, I’ll get right on that. Not like I make the trip all the time without any complaints, right?” A pause, then: “Kouhi is going to actually need to use that fan of his if he wants to have a snowball’s chance of making it past the prelims.”

 

Shikamaru considered asking her in that moment whether she had any guesses about the exact age and cause of her own death, but thought better of it. She, of course, was not present for the conversation between him and Kankurō earlier. If she had been, she would’ve told them both to shut up before their throats dried out.

 

Instead, he opted for: “That a student of yours?”

 

“Kind of,” Temari said, which Shikamaru decided was an interesting response to a yes or no question.

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“His teacher is a friend of mine. He has some skill with the Wind Release jutsu and had an interest in learning fan techniques. I’d figured I’d help him— _OH_ YEAH!”

Temari pumped an exuberant fist skyward as a wild gust of wind sent the Ame genin below crashing against the stadium wall. When she didn’t move, medical nin went to retrieve her as the referee declared Temari’s kind-of student the victor.

 

Shikamaru felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile as Temari jumped and cheered. A victory for one Suna genin meant a victory for the village as a whole, and the Cruelest Kunoichi was no exception.

 

“Ahh, I have to get going,” Temari sighed, still buzzing from the surprise victory. Her eyes were still firmly glued to the wheezing kid below. “What time do you get off?”

 

“You mean, what time does my shift end?” Shikamaru asked, still smiling.

 

“I mean what time do you ejaculate.”

 

“Nine for both.”

 

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” Temari said, which meant they would definitely be making out in an office broom closet by nine fifteen.

 

“Maybe I’ll see you then,” Shikamaru parroted back before Temari hopped down the stairs and headed towards the Kazekage and his enviously-shaded seats. Knowing that Temari’s tongue was going to be shoved halfway down his throat later made the hours spent standing in the brutal heat tick by all the more slowly.

 

Maybe he _should_ get a sun hat.

 

~

 

He did get a sun hat.

 

A passing vendor was doing Heaven’s work, selling them to foreign spectators who had come ill-prepared to watch their progeny beat the spit out of each other in the brutal heat of the Wind Country’s hidden village. Unfortunately, this passing vendor was also serving another master—namely, his own wallet—and refused to part with a hat for anything below 200 ryo. Highway-fucking-robbery was happening in rows D24-F23. Shikamaru should’ve booked him for disrupting the fragile, post-war peace between nations then and there.

 

“Cool hat,” Kankurō told him as they headed back to the Kazekage’s office once the final preliminary match of the evening had concluded.

 

Shikamaru didn’t even have it in him to think of a response—the heat had melted whatever part of his brain generated speech and left him to respond with nothing more than a guttural grunt.

 

Kankurō took off his own theatric cap to shake the sweat out of his shaggy brown hair. There was unfortunately nothing he could do about the sweat streaking down his face, carving small rivers into the bruise-colored lines of his dramatic face paint. “Want to head to the baths after we clock out?”

 

“As fun as that sounds,” Shikamaru slurred, the social portion of his brain slowly regenerating with the setting sun, “I have plans.”

 

“Temari’s not going to want to kiss you if you smell like sweat, dude.”

 

Shikamaru squinted.

 

“I don’t remember saying I was going to hang out with Temari.”

 

“Unfortunately, you’re just that predictable. C’mon, we can tell Gaara and the others to come with us.”

 

And go with them they did. Before the clock even struck eight, the Kazekage had explained to the Lord Hokage that he and several of Konoha’s finest would be leaving for the Kazekage’s own private baths. As it happened, before the clock even struck seven, Kakashi had decided to call it a night and could not be reached for comment. Thinking he would have to stay until nine to complete his duties as advisor was naïve on Shikamaru’s part, in retrospect. Official Business would always lose out to an evening alone with Icha Icha Strap. 

 

~

 

Just before Shikamaru made the mistake of being thankful for the bath, he was reminded of who his companions were. Kankurō and Kiba spent much of the hour tossing around a singular brain cell like an inflatable ball at the beach; Shino was hosting some sort of burrowing larvae underneath the skin of his shoulder which triggered Shikamaru’s gag reflex every time he made the mistake of glancing over; and Gaara was...Gaara.

 

“Man, it absolutely sucks Sakura had to stay behind,” Kankurō whined as he dutifully scrubbed the paint from his cheek. “I was hoping she’d come to head the medical division for the Chuunin Exams.”

 

Kiba let out a bark of laughter at that. “You wish! Even if Sakura ever gave you the time of day, you’d have to fight Ino, Lee, _and_ Sasuke for her attention, you dope!”

 

“Even if that weren’t the case, I’m still not sure you’d have much of a chance,” Shino mused. “Why? Because I don’t think she’s been all that receptive to your attempts at courtship.” Shino punctuated his observation by rinsing himself off and making his way over to the hot bath, across the way from Shikamaru and, thankfully, with his shoulder to the wall.

 

Kankurō and Kiba followed shortly after, bickering about the exact likelihood of Kankurō finding his way into Sakura’s bed. Neither of them were particularly good at that kind of math, but Shikamaru reckoned Kiba’s estimate was closest with “negative infinity.”

 

“Well, maybe I should give up and try for Hinata, then, huh? I see she’s grown a little, especially, you know—around the chest.”

 

Kiba snarled as if someone had dropped a stink bomb in the room. “You take that back, you creep! She’s practically my sister! How would you like it if I started talking about Temari’s tits?”

 

“Hey, she’s _actually_ my sister!”

 

“Perhaps we should not be talking about any of their chests. Why?” Shino slid lower into the water. “Because...it’s disrespectful, I think.”

 

Kankurō and Kiba didn’t know what to say to that, and slid lower into the water themselves. Riveting conversationalists, the three of them.

 

Shikamaru looked over at Gaara, who was still fastidiously scrubbing his hair. “Hey, Lord Kazekage,” he drawled. “You still washin’ up?”

 

Gaara made a high-pitched, guttural whine in the back of his throat—the remnants of his formerly-feral personality uncomfortable with the sudden attention. Shikamaru waited for the redhead to gather his thoughts, watching as he hunched foreword and squinted before collecting himself enough to respond. “There’s a lot of...sand,” Gaara managed before getting back to scrubbing.

 

“You need any help?” Kankurō asked. Gaara responded with a shake of his head, “I’m almost done.”

 

“So, Gaara,” Kiba asked, resting his chin on the tiled edge of the bath. “You got any hot babes in your life?” He fixed him with a toothy grin while Gaara mulled over the question.

 

“I can’t believe you’re actually thinking about it,” Shikamaru said, surprised that Gaara didn’t respond with an immediate and definite no.

 

“I’m trying to decide whether or not the question was worth dignifying with a response.” _Absolutely brutal_ , Shikamaru thought with a smirk.

 

Kiba wasn’t satisfied with the response, naturally, and whined—a pitiable sound, like Akamaru after being denied a snack. “Oh, come on,” he fished. “There’s gotta be someone you got your sights set on.”

 

Gaara finally joined them in the hot water, making the pointed decision to sit as far away from Kiba as possible. Shikamaru could see when he sat next to him that, despite his best efforts, there were still grains of sand stuck behind Gaara’s ear and along the nape of his neck.

 

“A girl?” Gaara finally said after a minute. “No.”

 

“What about a boy, then?”

 

The tips of Gaara’s ears ignited as he thoughtfully offered the name “Naruto Uzumaki.” Kankurō chuckled at that before saying: “Ever since our first Chuunin Exams with you guys, Uzumaki and that Rock Lee guy are all he can think about.”

 

The blush crept from the tips of Gaara’s ears down his neck as he informed the group that Naruto was an admirable soul and a paragon of strength—“I truly admire him.”

 

“You’re gonna have to fight Hinata for him then,” Kiba sneered. 

“Why?” was Shino’s almost playful follow through. “Because she feels the same.”

 

“Perhaps we should talk about something else,” Gaara almost-begged before sinking eye-level into the hot water.

 

“Perhaps we should grill Shikamaru about his date with Temari later tonight,” Shino offered. Gaara simply looked up at Shikamaru in response, presumably relieved to have the attention off him again. Kankurō grunted. “Man, I don’t wanna hear any of those details. The less I know about what happens between you and her the better.”

 

Shikamaru was never planning on telling them. In fact, he wasn’t precisely sure why everyone seemed to know. For starters, Shikamaru and Temari weren’t expressly dating—they had never dignified what they had been doing with any sort of title in the light of day.

 

What had started with loaded looks at each other from across the Hokage’s office became wandering hands under tables and hot kisses exchanged around hallway corners. There was nothing particularly romantic about the whole thing, and Shikamaru figured the only reason it happened was because Temari was the only other person working those long hours with him.

 

“Don’t you feel weird foolin’ around with someone my age?” Shikamaru remembers asking her late one night—early one morning—his cheek pressed against the soft inside of her thigh. Temari grumbled at that, pressing a foot against his shoulder. “Are you calling me old?” she had asked.

 

“A hag, really,” Shikamaru had responded before pressing a kiss against the soft fabric of her underwear. “Ancient as fuck.”

 

Temari had kicked him hard that time, but Shikamaru didn’t relent. He had pulled away the fabric between them and kissed the soft skin beneath. “You’re not that much of a kid,” Temari finally responded, tilting her head back. After she finished, she gathered her belongings and told him she’d see him at work later.

 

Shikamaru was fairly sure he could’ve replaced Temari with any other Kunoichi near his age and the result would’ve been the same. They weren’t dating. It wasn’t romantic. There was nothing about Temari in particular that had started this whole thing except proximity.

 

~

 

Well, proximity and her hips.

 

Suna clothing was typically loose, woven from linen and other light, breathable fabrics designed to allow the wearer to cover up against the sandstorms and the harsh rays of the sun without burning alive. The same could not be said for the Wind Country’s take on the kimono, which had made its way over from the Land of Fire in the previous generation. While traditional Fire kimono simplified the silhouette and drew attention away from the body’s natural curves, the younger generation of Suna women were much more interested in emphasizing their assets—higher cut hems, more form-flattering materials, and thinner obi all meant Temari’s hips were at the front and center of his attention when he saw her waiting outside the Kazekage’s office that night.

 

“Hey,” Temari called out to him with a wave of her hand. “Nara, I’ve been waiting for you.”

 

“Sorry, your brothers were demanding my full and undivided attention.” It was nine fifteen by the time he met her, which meant their make out session would invariably be pushed back to nine thirty unless they really hustled.

 

Temari smirked. “Yeah, they do that.” When she started walking away from the Kazekage’s office, Shikamaru became confused. The broom closets were inside the building.

 

“Where are we going?” he asked, falling into step next to her.

 

“Well, this is the first time you’ve been off the clock in Suna, right?”

 

“Correct.” Shikamaru had been to Suna approximately 6 times before. Each time had been spent accompanying the Hokage and limited to the inside of the Kazekage’s office.

 

“So,” Temari drawled, “this is the first chance I have to show you what it’s like.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You don’t sound particularly enthused.”

 

“No, I am.”

 

“You were just...hoping we’d be making out in a broom closet by now, though, right?” Temari cocked her head, unimpressed.

 

“Absolutely not.” That would’ve been at least seven minutes ahead of schedule. Ridiculous.

 

Temari was unconvinced. “Right, well, I promise this is going to be at least equally entertaining.” Shikamaru was unsure that would be the case—the feeling of a breast cupped in his hand was far more enticing than the winding, dead streets around the Kazekage’s office—until he heard the distinct sounds of drums and shouting. Temari led them down an alley towards a brightly light boulevard. Abandoned storefronts and sleepy apartments gave way to bustling street food carts and bars as they approached, people hollering at each other from across alleys and waiters balancing heavy platters full of food from one table to another.

 

When they arrived at the central road, throngs of people were watching a parade of dancers and musicians pass by—glittering gold jewelry and instruments Shikamaru had only seen in picture books filled the neighborhood with their sound.

 

“What’s going on,” Shikamaru yelled above the din of the festivities, “is it some kind of holiday?”

 

“No,” Temari replied, “it’s to welcome the visitors from other villages.”

 

Shikamaru must’ve looked confused because Temari rolled her eyes at him before continuing. “Gaara figured that we should focus on making people feel welcome while they’re here for the exams. I think he wants to make more of an effort to build good will, you know?”

 

Shikamaru stared at her, gobsmacked. Usually, the brutal nature of the tests and the constant undercurrent of distrust between contestants made the hosting village become tense with killing intent—for Suna of all places to turn that on its head was wholly unbelievable, and yet, when he looked at the crowd gathered in the street he couldn’t help but feel that it was a stroke of genius.

 

In the months after the war, the people of Konoha struggled to rebuild the village and cope with terrible loss. When the Five Kage announced that this year’s Chuunin Exams would be continuing as though nothing had happened, people were understandably confused and scared; they had just lost hundreds of their own people to an enemy they still didn’t fully comprehend, now they were going to send their kids to fight again? Frankly, Shikamaru was shocked even 6 teams signed up, but seeing Konoha genin standing shoulder to shoulder with Ame and Rai genin as they marveled at the costumes of passing performers made him glad they did.

 

For the first time in a very long time, Shikamaru didn’t feel anxious.

 

“Come on,” Temari called, grabbing his hand and pulling him past a group of laughing Suna citizens. Shikamaru couldn’t help but smile as he was pulled along, watching drunk civilians from the Land of Fire sing an old drinking song to a laughing couple from the Land of Hot Water. When they finally arrived at their destination—a bustling restaurant with tables and chairs pouring out into the streets—Temari grabbed them a table facing the parade.

 

“You can drink now, right?” she asked, handing him one of the beers a waiter brought out for them.

 

“I can in Konoha, what’s the drinking age here?” He asked, but not before chugging half the glass.

 

“Twenty-one.”

 

Shikamaru finished his beer before saying, “I can’t, then.” Temari laughed, careful not to spit her mouthful, while Shikamaru burped aggressively into the crook of his elbow. Temari flagged the waiter down for a second round and rattled off an order for what Shikamaru prayed was food in Wind Tongue.

 

He rarely got to hear the language of the Wind Country—most business conducted between their villages was carried out in Fire, blessedly, because Shikamaru wasn’t sure his clumsy tongue could handle the delicate sounds that pervaded Wind and were wholly absent from his own language.

 

“The first time I heard Fire, I thought it sounded like gibberish,” Temari had told him at a bar in Konoha. “Like a baby pretending to talk by mimicking the sounds of grown-ups. Really funny.”

 

Temari didn’t usually have an accent—part of kunoichi training was learning to speak several languages without ever giving away your native one. Ino was almost perfect, but she struggled with the verb conjugation for Earth Tongue. Sakura had full marks across the board for grammar, but she could never seem to fully ditch the nasal accent of Fire. Temari was different—language came to her as naturally as any other shinobi skill.

 

But as she grew increasingly drunk that night in Konoha, it became quite clear that wasn’t the case when she wasn’t sober. Idioms didn’t translate properly, her tongue didn’t hit the palette of her mouth hard enough for certain sounds, and the breathy interjections she was accustomed to using back home came spilling out of her mouth, uninhibited.

 

In their drunken state, Temari had figured she’d try teaching him how to wrap his mouth around the sounds they didn’t have in Konoha. The melodic “L” sounds were the hardest to grasp. Shikamaru had been able to reproduce them when he pressed the tip of his tongue against the back of his teeth and vocalized, but when he tried them within the context of a word—say, “ _albasha_ ,” the title used for the Daimyō—the sound became confused, like his tongue was more content sticking to the back of his mouth.

 

Shikamaru remembered that they didn’t go back to her hotel that night. He had offered, but she acted like she didn’t hear him—she was singing loudly and off-key, and wanted to go back to the office to sober up over some paperwork.

 

The reason this event was at the forefront of his mind now—at this bar in Suna—was because that song Temari had been hollering all those nights ago was being performed in front of them by the passing procession of musicians. He almost didn’t recognize it without the effects of her disjointed warbling, but sure enough, the tune was the same.

 

Shikamaru wanted to appreciate it more, but their food had arrived and he was busy trying to keep it down. He was starved, to be sure, but for some reason the knowledge that he was eating grilled ox penis wasn’t doing great things for his appetite.

 

“You can just eat the chickpeas or the yogurt chicken if you want,” Temari laughed around a mouthful of flatbread, enjoying his pained expression. “You don’t need to force yourself.”

 

“And let you win? You ordered this as test of wills and I refuse to lose.” Shikamaru was lazy, but he was also stubborn.

 

Temari cut off a piece of phallus and wrapped it in a flatbread before popping it in her mouth. If he weren’t so annoyed at this challenging approach to dinner, he would’ve noticed he was having a great time.

 

Drinking and eating gave way to dancing before long—something Shikamaru hated conceptually, but that his legs were more open to the more his blood-alcohol levels rose. That, and he was fairly certain everyone around them had gotten similarly wrapped up in festivities of the night as well. Drinking and dancing went hand in hand, after all.

 

Dancing in Konoha was not a group affair. Dancing in Suna decidedly _was_.

 

The crowds around them had followed the lead of the Suna nightlife and began reveling in the wake of the parade. Professional dancers put on a show for onlookers and drunken couples spun dizzyingly around one another. For the first time that night, Shikamaru’s hands found themselves on Temari’s hips.

 

~

 

The second time Shikamaru’s hands found themselves on Temari’s hips that night, it was on the long walk back to Shikamaru’s hotel room. Temari was warbling again—like a dying bird that vaguely knew how music worked in theory but couldn’t quite suss it out in practice. 

 

“Aren’t kunoichi supposed to be trained singers?”

 

“ _Aren’t kunoichi supposed to be trained singers?_ ” Temari sang in response, as though they were the lyrics of her mangled song.

 

“Alright, fuck me for asking, I guess.” Shikamaru was fairly tipsy himself, finding it extremely difficult not to cry laughing at every shrill note just one or four octaves outside of Temari’s range. The cool desert wind was doing wonders for his head, though, and the fact that Temari was letting him hold her so close was promising.

 

He didn’t let go when they got to the hotel and she didn’t try to wiggle away either. Temari continued singing—not belting, but whispering wildly—the entire walk up to the suite the Kazekage had arranged for him. Once they stumbled past the threshold, Temari made a beeline for the nest of pillows one could be tempted to call a bed.

 

“Hey,” she hissed, looking up at him from between two giant, sand hippo-shaped stuffed animals. She was fixing him with a toothy, mischievous grin as she rifled through the gold-embroidered pillows and plushes, and Shikamaru was unsure whether to focus his gaze on her face, the dangerously open neck of her kimono, or her spread legs, which spilled over the edge of the bed. He leaned back against the opposite wall, which gave him a fine enough view of all three.

 

“Did you like my song?” she asked with a certain air about her that made him think she didn’t care either way.

 

Shikamaru pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “I wasn’t really listening,” he said after lighting one and taking a drag. “You should’ve tried singing louder.”

 

Temari hummed by way of a response, leaning her head back against the mound of pillows. Shikamaru was going to joke that maybe if she tried a little louder, the people over in Konoha could give her some feedback, but the words dried out in his throat when he saw her hand wander under her kimono and between her thighs.

 

He hoped he looked coolly stoic watching her and not as absolutely frantic as he felt. The sight of her forearm moving up and down as she rubbed herself made a sizable firework explode in his chest. Temari’s other hand hiked up the fabric of her dress to give him a better view as she hummed low and sweet.

 

“Put out that cigarette and come here.”

 

Shikamaru’s legs felt just marginally less than pure gelatin as he obeyed. When she looked up at him, he felt like his face had spontaneously combusted—like the desert sun had suddenly risen in her eyes, shining with all the intensity of its midday zenith and casting smoldering light directly at him. There was nothing he could do now but sweat and pray.

 

Temari held out her hand, her fingers slick, and guided him on top of her. “Shikamaru,” she breathed, leaning up to speak directly into his ear, “I want you inside me.”

 

Shikamaru’s mind went blank. He wasn’t precisely sure what to do for exactly two reasons: primarily, Temari and he had never actually had sex. They had kissed and groped and licked and tugged every inch of each other, but he had never actually done the damn thing; not with Temari or anyone else.

 

Second—and this was crucially important—Shikamaru somehow sensed deep within his bones he would never be able to top a woman in his life.

 

Sensing something was off, Temari kissed the worried spot between his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Absolutely nothing,” Shikamaru lied. Suddenly, he felt his anxiety creeping back up his spine, wrapping itself around his hips and shutting down any activity that may have been brewing in his pants.

 

“I’m not sure how much I believe that.” Temari sat up under him, tilting his head up to look at her. “Did you have too much to drink?”

 

“Of course not,” Shikamaru snapped. Then, softer, “I don’t know.”

 

Temari flipped him over and pushed him down onto the pillows so he could occupy the plush space between the sand hippos. Placing a hand on his chest, she said “You’re nervous.”

 

It wasn’t a question. It didn’t need to be. It was apparent.

 

Shikamaru bit his lip. She stared at him, stared at the wall, gave him time to collect his thoughts. Her hand didn’t move an inch from his chest. Eventually, he placed his hand over hers.

 

“Temari?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Have you done it before?” Shikamaru felt ridiculous asking.

 

“Yeah,” was her easy response. “Couple times.”

 

“With other guys?”

 

Temari giggled and looked back down at him. She pressed a finger from her other hand against the wrinkles between his eyebrows. “Yeah, some.”

 

“Hm.” Shikamaru could feel that despite her poking, his scrunched brow wasn’t going away. “Can I ask another question?”

 

“Many as you like.”

 

“Do you ever think about how you’re going to die?”

 

To Shikamaru’s surprise, Temari tore up laughing at that. She doubled over, her snort-giggles vibrating against the small of his neck and sending a jolt of electricity to his groin. When she sat back up, she was still chuckling, but she tried her best to project earnestness.

 

“Not really,” she managed. “Why? Do you?”

 

Shikamaru frowned. “I did,” he said, but he could feel his plan becoming shaky. “I don’t know that I still do.”

 

“Bit morbid, don’t you think?” They stared at each other in silence for a bit while Shikamaru mulled over her response.

 

Shikamaru was in love with Temari, he concluded. It wasn’t proximity, it was her laugh. It wasn’t her hips, it was her blunt personality. It was long hours spent together in an office building, it was the ridiculous faces she made at him from across the office when no one else was looking. It was the accent that creeped into her voice when she was pumped full of alcohol and the absolutely horrendous singing that followed every single time, it was the way her eyes burned into his skin like a ray of sunlight through a lens, and the way she laughed when he had the audacity to ask her whether she ever thought about her own death.

 

It was the strong arms and deft hands that seemed to encapsulate his entire existence in that moment between the pillows, the tiny moles along her neck that seemed to laser guide his lips to her skin.

 

It was the casual way she asked “Was _that_ all?” as he kissed the soft, sun-soaked spot just below her ear.

 

“Temari,” he croaked into her shoulder—he was fairly certain that if he said what he planned to say next directly to her face he would melt into a puddle of goo. “I think you should—y-you know—take the lead.”

 

Temari pulled back just enough for Shikamaru to see the wicked grin on her face. Like a zombie from its grave, he could feel his erection once again springing to life against the fabric of his pants.

 

“Shikamaru,” Temari purred, her hand traveling southward before settling on his crotch. “Do you know how much I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that to me?”

 

Temari didn’t wait for a response before hurriedly untying her obi. With it out of the way, the fabric of her dress parted to reveal her beautiful, toned body: her breasts were bigger than he remembered, not exactly perky like the kinds in magazines but still perfect, and soft to boot. Her abs were definitely like the kinds in magazines—entirely different magazines, like Bodybuilders Monthly, the kind his mom wouldn’t yell at him for looking at lustily when they went to the book store—powerful and covered with a gold dusting of hair that led down to her naked—

 

“Were you really not wearing underwear all day?” Shikamaru suddenly felt like he was hopelessly out of his league here.

 

“I was. I took them off before we headed out.”

 

Shikamaru thought that heart attack might actually take him right here, right now, 32 years ahead of schedule.

 

Temari was still technically wearing her robe—the sleeves still hooked around the crook of her elbows—when she straddled his hips. She took his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers as she grinded down against his waist. He could feel how wet she was against the skin of his stomach, exposed by the movement of her hips.

 

She seemed to be having a grand old time judging by the way her head lolled back. Shikamaru, on the other hand, was growing increasingly desperate for any kind of attention to his dick. As much as he enjoyed watching the small bounce of her breasts, he was hoping he’d be in for more than his own hand tonight. “Te-Temari...!”

 

She looked down at him, bringing their hands up to touch his cheek softly. “Are you ready?” she asked. Her voice was husky, honey-drunk, but the question was sincere. He nodded.

 

Temari smiled, leaning down to kiss the spot just below his left eye. When she sat back up, she let go of his hands to tug down his pants and Shikamaru was surprised to feel he missed the comforting pressure of her fingers wrapped with his.

 

Temari sat over his thighs and pressed his cock up against the flesh of her pelvis, like she was measuring how far he’d go. The sight was almost enough to end him for the night. “If you want me to stop,” she cooed as she trailed her fingers up along the shaft, “just let me know.”

 

Shikamaru nodded—it was just about all he could do—and Temari lowered herself onto him. Just barely at first, her eyes squinting closed as she adjusted herself to the sensation, and then his whole length was inside her. Temari hissed at the almost-sudden penetration and placed a hand below her belly. She smiled at him then and said, “I’m going to start moving now.” He nodded again as she guided his hands to her thighs.

 

Shikamaru had to shut his eyes then—it was taking all his determination not to spend himself at the sensation of Temari around him, and if visual stimulus was added to the equation, he was as good as gone. He could hear her breathing, hear the sounds of skin on skin, hear the ludicrously sexy noise of her wetness, unsure of which to focus on and desperately trying not to be overwhelmed by the whole ordeal.

 

She was coaxing small whines out of him with each thrust of her hips and Shikamaru could tell she was loving it. Small tears pricked at the edges of his eyes and spilled down his cheeks, prompting Temari to ask if everything was all right. His face was surely, literally on fire, it had to be, as he nodded. His whines became increasingly pathetic, too, and more pronounced—only encouraging Temari to continue with vigor.

 

She moved one of his hands down to her opening and encouraged him to stroke her clit with his thumb. The direct result was Temari’s insides clenching around him, tensing and loosening like she fully intended to drain him for all he was worth, and he cried out loudly. Temari had to continue coaxing his trembling hand to carry on its ministrations because the sensation was leaving him too blissed out to focus on anything other than squirming beneath her.

 

“Temari-i!” Shikamaru cried. “Te—I’m cumming, Temari, I’m—!”

 

With an uncontrollable arch of his back, Shikamaru emptied himself inside her. Temari didn’t stop, dropping Shikamaru’s limp hand and using her own fingers to bring herself to orgasm. She came with a moan, clenching tightly around him and frying what little was left of Shikamaru’s brain. When she was done, she collapsed on top of him, powerful arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders.

 

“You did great,” she told him. He replied with his most heartfelt whimper. “You know, I wasn’t expecting you to be so...adorable. Who knew you had a such a helpless side?” That comment earned a dismayed grunt.

 

They laid in silence for a while, the only sound their heavy breathing and the cool desert wind outside, until Temari asked, “Do you mind if I stay?” 

Shikamaru had collected himself enough to say “No. You can stay.”

 

~

 

She did.

 

In fact, they didn’t move from where they were until sunrise. The brutal sun bore down on them, and Temari’s sweaty body and the black cotton of her kimono only made the heat more unpleasant. The prospect of going to work now felt almost akin to psychological torture—Shikamaru was no more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than he had been yesterday.

 

But he wasn’t thinking about death, which was a start. He wasn’t thinking about his anxious heart, or about smoking a cigarette. He wasn’t even really thinking about the heat or the Lord Hokage or what kind of glare Kankurō would fix him with when he figured out what happened last night.

 

He was thinking about Temari and the way her hair shone like gold in the sunlight. He was thinking about how he hoped he’d wake up to her sweaty, unpleasantly hot body sticking to his again and again. He was thinking about how he had no plans for his future, and how, at that moment, he wasn’t encumbered by it at all.


End file.
